


Like A Fern, Unfurling

by boughofawillowtree



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Belts, Bondage, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Collars, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Genital switching, Good Omens Kink Meme, Kink Meme, M/M, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Safeword Use, Safewords, Spanking, Submissive Crowley (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), no betas we saunter vaguely downwards, pressure points
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2020-10-28 13:55:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20779694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boughofawillowtree/pseuds/boughofawillowtree
Summary: I wrote this for the Good Omens kink meme, because someone I like asked me to. Aziraphale agrees to try something kinky with Crowley, but worries he won't safeword even if he needs to. So he pushes the demon past his limits to make sure.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have literally never written smut/erotic fic before. So, uh. Bear that in mind? But this was way more fun than I expected. Feel free to send other kink meme reqs my way. 
> 
> I kind of hate the title but I just wanted to post the damn thing; feel free to suggest better titles.
> 
> I did exactly zero research on the underground BDSM scene in London in the 1800s. Call it an AU, I suppose.
> 
> Prompt:  
Crowley wants to try a little bit of rougher play between them. He wants to be manhandled, held down and hurt just a little. He wants Aziraphale to verbally humiliate him as well. 
> 
> Aziraphale likes the idea more than he wants to admit, but he has ~concerns. He is very insistent that Crowley use his safe word if it gets to be too much at all. Crowley is very insistent that it WON'T be too much, he has no intention of using the safe word. 
> 
> That's why when it DOES start to get to be too much for him, too painful (emotionally AND physically), Crowley resists using his safeword. Aziraphale knows that Crowley's hurting, and refusing to say anything, and also knows that if they get through this and he HASN'T used the safeword, Aziraphale will never be able to bring himself to do anything like this again - not knowing that Crowley WON'T speak up if he needs to. 
> 
> So...he pushes harder. Keeps pushing, until he's pushed far enough that Crowley, his voice broken, tears on his face, FINALLY safewords out. And then, he can give him all the tender, loving after-care that he needs, holding him and comforting him and taking care of him.

Crowley and Aziraphale had been exploring their corporations together, in the human fashion, ever since that first night they spent together after the averted apocalypse. But lately, Crowley had been hinting that he might like to try something more, and they had finally navigated the unruly ship of their conversations into those waters.

They were sitting on Aziraphale’s bed. It was late morning, and they were just finishing up a long stretch of chatty lounging when the subject had come up again. One of them (it had been Aziraphale) mentioned the declining quality of pastries at a shop down the road, then one of them (it had been Crowley) awkwardly claimed that he sometimes liked things “a little rougher,” and Aziraphale had decided not to let the statement go, and then there they were; actually Talking About It.

“What kinds of things would you enjoy?” Aziraphale miracled a pad of plush creamy paper and a quill pen, which he held poised as if to take dictation.

“Augh, angel,” Crowley said, with a roll of his eyes. He fell backwards onto the bed, arms flopped over his face. “It’s not like that…”

“Not like what, dear?”

“Not, like, a list of things I want you to write down! Just, you know…”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” said Aziraphale primly.

Crowley made another frustrated groan, but he uncovered his face and sat up a bit. “Well, alright…Rough, like I said. You know. Bondage…some pain…” Crowley devolved into wordless mumbling, refusing to meet Aziraphale’s eyes.

“I see,” said the angel, sounding entirely unperturbed. “Anything else?”

Crowley glanced up, looking puzzled. Aziraphale could tell that Crowley had expected him to be startled, maybe put off, possibly even disgusted. Aziraphale was determined to provide no such reaction, continuing the conversation as if they were instead discussing what sort of pastries to bring on their picnic that afternoon. His calm demeanor had the demon off balance.

“Would using small miracles be alright, or would you prefer to keep things beyond the corporeal off-limits?”

“S’fine, I suppose,” Crowley said.

“That doesn’t sound too enthusiastic,” Aziraphale said, a note of sternness in his voice. “I want to make sure you’re getting what you want. I can’t do that if we’re not clear with each other.”

“Well blast it, angel, it’s not like I expect you to start dousing me in holy water or anything!”

Aziraphale said nothing, just waiting out the minor outburst.

“Alright, alright,” Crowley said, collecting himself.

Aziraphale noted the flush of pink that tinged his cheekbones. It was not going to be easy to get an honest answer out of the demon, not today, not on this subject.

“Alright,” he said again, running a hand through his hair. “Miracles are fine for bondage. No sense fussing with human nonsense if you can just snap and tie me up. But, uh, I still like to, you know, feel you…holding me down…sometimes.”

“Of course, dear. Thank you for telling me.” Aziraphale set the pad down and ran a hand tenderly down Crowley’s leg, leaning in for a kiss. “And for pain?”

The small relief Crowley had obviously felt when Aziraphale was satisfied with his answer melted quickly, replaced once again by evasive squirming. He reminded Aziraphale of young Warlock when questioned about damage in the garden: staring at his sneakers, talking into his shirt, unwilling to confess, unable to do anything else.

“Prob’ly best not to, ‘least for now,” Crowley said, looking for all the world like he was addressing the lamp on the bedside table instead of Aziraphale. “I’ve never exactly…played around with blessed objects. Not sure what might happen.”

“Perfectly reasonable.” Aziraphale smiled and took Crowley’s hand in his.

Crowley turned his gaze from the lamp to their intertwined hands, still not looking at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale ducked his head down, angling for eye contact. “Anything else?”

Crowley was silent for a moment, but it was the silence of something straining to be spoken. Aziraphale sat patiently. He would hold vigil as long as it took for Crowley’s shame and fear to lose their battle against his desires, against the sense of safety Aziraphale was working hard to build.

“You could…” Crowley began, fidgeting with Aziraphale’s hand in his. “Be mean. Humiliate me a little.” Getting no feedback from Aziraphale, he looked up with a giddy little smile. “Be the bastard I’ve always known you are.”

Aziraphale raised one eyebrow. Crowley was sensitive, he knew, to shame, and this was delicate ground they trod. “Are there any subjects I should take care to avoid?”

“Nah,” said Crowley, quick and casual.

“Are you sure? You are, after all –“

“I know what I am,” Crowley said, now holding Aziraphale’s gaze resolutely.

“Of course, darling.”

Aziraphale dropped the quill and gathered Crowley into his arms, stroking his red curls. “Thanks for telling me, love. I only ever want to make you happy.”

“I know, angel.”

***

That night, as Crowley slept upstairs, Aziraphale set up at his desk downstairs, a stack of long-ignored books by his side.

Crowley was likely operating under the assumption that all of this was new to Aziraphale.

He was incorrect.

Well, Aziraphale had to admit, he was partly correct. Aziraphale had never actually _participated_ in any such adventure, remaining in body and personal experience as chaste and virginal as he had been when they first met, that morning in the Garden.

But in _knowledge_? That was another story.

As it happened, Aziraphale had been spending his evenings during the 1800s in a discreet gentleman’s club, passing the days in the pleasant company of men who shared his appreciation for the finer things, and who he found as charming as anyone.

One night, he was invited to a private event hosted by a man named Maestro – well, of course, that wasn’t his given name, Aziraphale assumed, but that’s what everyone called him.

Anyhow, it seemed like a pleasant diversion. When he arrived, it was clear that this party would be an intimate affair, attended by a selective and secretive group.

It was also clear that he had wildly misunderstood the question when Maestro asked if he was “a man of peculiar proclivities.”

Aziraphale was about to feign a need to be elsewhere and duck out when he saw the young man who was kneeling bare-chested at Maestro’s feet.

The expression on his face struck Aziraphale immediately.

It was a look of ecstatic rapture, of a being caught up entirely in the power of a moment, in the worshipful appreciation of an Other and the exquisite joys of being in such a presence.

Aziraphale knew that humans spent lifetimes chasing such a feeling. He knew they begged God for such a moment, knew they believed angels to live perpetually in that surrender that encompassed and surpassed pleasure, and envied them for that.

It was rare and difficult to achieve, he knew. Even as an angel.

But here it was. In a small room draped with velvet and ringing with the hum of chattering voices, here was a pathway to that place, one he had been completely unaware of until just now.

He wanted to know more.

And Maestro was thrilled to teach him.

Though the older man was often puzzled by Aziraphale’s lack of interest in actually _doing_, or being _done to_, he was delighted to have such an attentive student. Aziraphale read every book he lent him, and even found some books on the topic that had not been in Maestro’s collection.

He learned about the different ways a human body can be enticed to transcend itself. He learned about the depth of tenderness required for certain types of harm. He learned about negotiation, and trust. He learned about control, both of the other and the self.

And though his initial interest was piqued by the vision of a “submissive” experience, he found that he was more drawn to the philosophy and practices of the “dominant” partner.

It seemed as though what Maestro did allowed the man to access a wider breadth of emotion than most of the humans Aziraphale had witnessed as they loved and fought over the years.

It was as if he had only ever seen a diamond straight-on, as a flat plane of facets, never realizing it had more underneath. Maestro had removed the jewel from its setting, and turned it over, and there Aziraphale saw a new type of twinkling, sharp and secret, a dimension that gave the whole stone more depth.

He had learned everything he could. But never felt pulled to actually lay his hands on another man. It was about the possibility of such an experience - how it was done, the theory of it all, what could be accomplished by redeeming and re-naming certain aspects of the profane and the erotic.

It was all a very strange mix of the spiritual and the sinful, and Aziraphale knew it had something to do with the fussing that fueled the rest of the world – with Heaven and Hell and love and lust and war – but the answers to _those_ questions never appeared in any of Maestro’s books, or his lessons.

Aziraphale wondered what She had intended when she placed such trapdoors in the human psyche, then hid them under shame and confusion. But oh, the brilliant reveal when those false floors were pulled back!

Maestro died, as humans had the unfortunate tendency to do, and Aziraphale became once again distracted by his arrangement with Crowley, and such thoughts faded from his mind. He did not know that Maestro was only one of many teachers and guides into that world, and he did not discover another such doorway for quite a time.

But the knowledge remained. The books, too, though they were concealed with a bit of angelic magic in a far corner of his shop. And occasionally, Aziraphale would notice the nervous fluttering of Crowley’s wrists and feel a desire to grab them and quiet his restless mind by way of his body. Or he would see something on Crowley’s television that harkened back to the drawings in Maestro’s books or the costumes at his parties and feel his own flutterings quicken.

All of this remained tucked away in Aziraphale’s mind, never spoken of or acted upon, just more collected knowledge, another set of memories. When set against six thousand years of life on earth, they didn’t exactly stand out.

Until Crowley brought it up.

***

It was some days after their initial conversation, and they were in Crowley’s bedroom, having decided to Try Some Things Out tonight.

Aziraphale was sitting on the edge of Crowley’s bed, resisting the urge to re-miracle the pen and paper. Crowley was draped over his back and shoulders, doing obscene things with his tongue to Aziraphale’s ears and neck. “You sure you want to do this?”

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale breathed, and he had never been more sincere in anything.

“Mmmm,” Crowley hummed, running his hands over Aziraphale’s body.

“There’s just one more thing,” Aziraphale said, and heard a groan from Crowley.

“Really, angel?”

“We should establish a safeword.”

“A _wot?_”

“It’s for – well, it’s a word that you can say if you want me to stop.”

“And why would I want that?” Crowley nibbled at Aziraphale’s ear and started to tug at the hem of his shirt.

“It’s just the sensible thing to do,” Aziraphale said, tilting his head away from Crowley’s hungry mouth. “It should be something you wouldn’t say otherwise. Something unusual for the circumstances.”

“But why choose a silly word? Couldn’t I just, you know…tell you to knock something off?”

Aziraphale thought about it for a second. He had to concede that he understood Crowley’s sense that this was an unnecessary addendum to the whole endeavor. Surely he knew himself, and Crowley, well enough to recognize the tone and reality of a true request to stop, phrased normally.

But one thing he had learned from his time as Maestro’s pupil was that in cases such as this, any assumption was a risk.

“It’s complicated,” Aziraphale said. “What if you find that it’s playful or enjoyable to use words like _no_ or _stop_?”

Crowley looked at him them, surprise and wonder in his golden eyes. It seemed that Crowley could not have imagined Aziraphale suggesting such a thing.

The demon’s mouth opened as if he might say something, but it didn’t look like he was anywhere close to finding words.

“How about _gavotte?_” Aziraphale suggested with a cheeky grin. “It’s a dance I used to enjoy.”

Crowley nodded.

“Let me hear you say it.”

_“Gavotte,”_ Crowley said, but then the spell started to break. “Really, though, it’s not like I’m going to say it.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

“Come on, angel,” Crowley said. “I’m from _Hell_. You really think anything you do to me tonight is going to make me cry uncle? Trust me. I can take whatever you throw at me.”

Aziraphale didn’t particularly like the direction this was going. “It’s not a competition, dear,” he chided. “It could be something as simple as your arm going funny from a tie-up. Or if I say something you don’t find pleasurable to hear. ‘Safewording,’ as it were, is never a failure; I certainly won’t be disappointed or judge you.”

Crowley had started nuzzling into Aziraphale again. “Got it, right. Sure. All set,” he said, his voice muffled by Aziraphale’s collar. “Now can I get you out of all these clothes?”

“I’m only comfortable doing this if I’m sure that you’ll let me know whether you like it.”

“It’s you,” Crowley purred. “Of course I’ll like it.”

Aziraphale remained skeptical, but there was no sense in continuing to press on a locked door. And Crowley’s hands on him were distracting enough to convince him to drop the issue. He would just have to be careful. Take things slow. Which was always the advisable route on the first time, anyhow.

Crowley had curled around Aziraphale’s shoulders and was fussing with his collar.

“Now, dear,” Aziraphale said, taking the demon’s hands in his. “I believe that, at least for tonight, you are no longer in charge.”

He felt Crowley’s breath catch, and the slender fingers on his collar stopped moving. It was beginning – that mysterious, magical process. He had seen so many men stumble and stride down this same stairway, and he could not believe his luck in getting to be the one to draw Crowley into this sublime place.

“There you go.” Aziraphale held Crowley’s hands firmly in his, guiding them away from his chest as he turned around. “I want you undressed first.”

Crowley licked his lips and grinned, shimmying backwards so that he was in the center of the bed and Aziraphale was still seated at the edge, feet planted on the floor, hips turned so he could watch as Crowley undressed.

Heat flooded into his chest and face as Crowley removed his shirt, revealing slender, serpentine muscles rippling under pale skin. “Good,” Aziraphale breathed, and Crowley closed his eyes, relishing in the angel’s attention.

Then the pants, and underwear, sliding off with snakelike undulations of Crowley’s body, and there he was, naked and gorgeous.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale expectantly. _Waiting for instruction. _Aziraphale thrilled at the realization.

“Hands and knees,” Aziraphale said, as he stood up from the bed and began to loosen his bowtie. Crowley eagerly assumed the position, looking up at Aziraphale adoringly. Aziraphale took a step forward and reached out to touch Crowley’s shoulder, enjoying the shudder of pleasure that rippled through him.

Crowley leaned forward, angling for more contact.

“Still,” Aziraphale commanded.

Crowley froze. Aziraphale could see a bit of his bottom lip disappear between teeth, could see his ribs heave with his breath.

It was incredible.

Then Aziraphale trailed his hand from Crowley’s shoulder down to stroke his chest, trace the lines of those ribs. And Crowley did not stay still. He arched his back and wiggled his hips.

“I said be still,” Aziraphale growled, climbing onto the bed and pushing Crowley over onto his side.

The demon flopped and sprawled on the bed, exaggerating the effect of Aziraphale’s shove. He was doing the opposite of fighting back. He was surrendering. Aziraphale was loving every minute of it.

Aziraphale positioned himself over top of Crowley and grabbed his slender wrists, pressing them into the mattress. Crowley moaned a bit, looking up at Aziraphale through his eyelashes.

Aziraphale could have stayed like that forever, feeling Crowley melt under his weight and power. But being held down wasn’t the only thing Crowley had mentioned in his requests.

Aziraphale brought his face down close to Crowley’s ear. “Are you going to be still for me?”

Crowley nodded frantically.

“Good.” Aziraphale let go of Crowley’s wrists and began trailing down his body with light touches, tantalizing kisses, grazing tickles. Crowley’s every muscle was tense with the effort of remaining motionless.

And then Aziraphale made it down his stomach and to the sharp blades of Crowley’s hips, which he traced with his tongue. It was too much for the demon, who cried out and arched his back, his hands flying to his sides and twisting the sheets.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said, sitting up and looking at Crowley.

He saw something, there, a flicker across Crowley’s face. It was as if the disappointment in Aziraphale’s voice had tripped some wire in the demon’s brain. But what trapdoor had it opened? Aziraphale couldn’t tell.

To distract himself from dwelling on that somewhat concerning mystery, he returned to his mental list of things Crowley had brought up. Aziraphale was intent on including everything Crowley had been so kind as to mention. _Bondage. Humiliation. Pain._

“I suppose I could help you out,” Aziraphale mused. He took Crowley’s wrists in one hand and pinned them over his head again, then snapped the fingers of his other hand. A piece of black silk appeared, neatly tying his wrists together.

Crowley struggled for a second, but only to test the bonds. Aziraphale knew from watching Maestro work that nearly everyone, when first bound, does the same thing.

“There you go,” he said, leaning back so that he straddled Crowley’s hips. Aziraphale began to unbutton his waistcoat and shirt. Crowley lifted his head and craned his neck, drinking in the view, his lips parted with unfiltered desire.

Aziraphale removed his tie, shirt, and waistcoat, then lay down, bare-chested, next to the bound Crowley. “You’re such a naughty demon, aren’t you?”

There it was again, that expression that took over Crowley’s face for an instant – _what was that?_ Aziraphale really hoped it was good. Certainly Crowley wouldn’t give him an honest answer if he paused and asked about it.

And then it was gone, and Crowley was nodding, his eyes closed. “Yesss…” he whispered.

“You are,” Aziraphale said, his hands moving possessively over Crowley’s body. He took Crowley’s stiffening cock into his hand, felt Crowley twitch in anticipation. “Can’t follow one simple instruction, and then when I have to tie you down, you start getting hard.”

Crowley’s head was turned to one side, pressed into his arm, and he made a low whining noise.

“You like it,” Aziraphale said, beginning to stroke Crowley’s cock. “You like being a naughty little demon. You like being tied up?”

“Mmhmm,” Crowley said, his hips lifting from the bed, his legs writhing against the sheets.

Then Aziraphale propped himself up on one arm and started licking and kissing Crowley’s chest. He found a nipple, pert and quivering, and took it between his lips. Crowley made a noise of unmitigated pleasure. Any other night, Aziraphale would have left it there and simply continued doing this.

But there was one more thing left on Crowley’s list.

Aziraphale brought the pink bud between his teeth and bit down, listening closely as the sounds Crowley was making went from moans of pleasure to a startled yelp and then into a keening. Aziraphale stopped adding pressure and held still, waiting until Crowley’s pained noises were joined by jolts of movement in his body, and then pulled back.

He sat up and looked at Crowley, who was starting to glisten with sweat. His mouth was open and he was working to catch his breath.

“You did ask for pain, my dear,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley nodded, smiling.

When Aziraphale leaned down toward the other nipple, Crowley tensed up even before the angel even made contact. Aziraphale ran a hand down Crowley’s chest. “You liked it,” Aziraphale said. It wasn’t a question.

And then Aziraphale bit the demon’s other nipple, harder this time, letting him shriek and kick for a moment before releasing.

Aziraphale took the nipple between his fingertips and kneaded it roughly, knowing it would be sore. He looked into Crowley’s face, adopting a stern expression. “You like that, don’t you?”

Crowley nodded.

“Say it. Tell me.”

“I…I like it,” Crowley whimpered.

“That’s right,” Aziraphale said, returning to his kissing and stroking as he spoke. “A naughty demon like you. Of course you like pain.”

That look. Again. Just for a second. Aziraphale couldn’t place it. Was it humiliation? And if so…was it the good kind? Was it what he had asked for? OR was it something else?

Aziraphale decided to drop it with the verbal stuff for a bit. It was easier to see how Crowley’s body responded to whatever Aziraphale did to it. Whatever was going on inside his head was much more opaque.

He’d need to figure it out eventually, of course. After all, that’s what it was all about. Crowley’s thoughts, his emotions, his experience. “Any nobody on the street can whack you across the face, and there’s nothing nice about it,” Maestro had explained to Aziraphale. “It’s not the pain. It’s everything the pain is wrapped in. Everything it means.”

_What did it mean to Crowley?_

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the silk binding on Crowley’s wrists disappeared. He took hold of Crowley, roughly, and rolled him over onto his stomach. Crowley stretched out like a cat, his hips raised, his torso rolling back and forth a bit. Aziraphale snapped his fingers again and now he was naked too. No sense in taking all the time to undress; it wasn’t as if he was the one putting on a show.

He lay down on top of Crowley, covering the demon’s body with his own, and used his arms and thighs to pin him down, then felt for Crowley’s feet with his own and, wrapping his ankles around Crowley’s calves, spread his legs wide.

Crowley was lost in it, sighing and moaning and melting underneath the angel. There was no ambiguity to Crowley’s response when Aziraphale sat up, kneeling between Crowley’s spread legs, and pulled his wrists behind his back. Aziraphale snapped his fingers and Crowley’s hands were again bound tightly in black silk.

Aziraphale reached between Crowley’s thighs, finding his hole and quickly miracling lube onto his fingers as he pressed one inside. Crowley’s moans changed in tenor now, becoming deeper, more guttural.

Aziraphale had done this plenty of times, but not like this. All those times, he had been doing something _with_ Crowley. Now, he was doing it _to_ him. And _for_ him. It felt amazing, all this power, all this control. His to do with as he wanted.

He had worried that it would be difficult to be rougher than usual with his beloved demon, but hearing the lust and need coming from Crowley laid waste to any reservations. So, much sooner than he otherwise would, he added a second finger, turning and stretching inside Crowley.

And then he brought his free hand down hard on Crowley’s backside, loving the way Crowley’s shout echoed off the bare walls of the bedroom. Again he spanked him as he pressed a third finger inside, curling all three to massage Crowley’s prostate, and then he had found a rhythm, carrying Crowley farther and farther down that staircase as he balanced pleasure and pain. Crowley was beyond words, crying out and thrashing, and it was all good, the sounds he was making, the motions of his body, it was all so, so good.

And it was good, it was even better, when Aziraphale fell forward and slid his cock inside Crowley, it was good to hear him howl, it was good to wrest his own pleasure from Crowley’s suffering – because he knew it hurt, knew he was being far less gentle than he usually was. He felt free, as if the only things that could tether him were his own choices, and he was choosing to be here, devoted entirely to Crowley, to take in hand his pleasure and his pain, dole them out as he saw fit, and as Crowley’s body begged to receive them.

It was good.

And then Aziraphale took Crowley’s hair in his hand and pulled back so that he could see Crowley’s face, could speak directly into his ear. “I love the way you hurt for me, just like a demon should,” Aziraphale panted. “You’re my little demon slut. That’s what demons are good for,” he breathed in between thrusts. “Taking pain.”

It was not good.

Crowley winced and pressed his eyes shut, twisting his face away as much as he could, given Aziraphale’s grip on his hair.

Aziraphale could tell now that he had stepped over a line. Crowley had wanted him to be mean, to employ some verbal humiliation; but something had been too much.

Aziraphale paused and let go of Crowley’s hair, waiting for Crowley to safeword. That’s what it was for, after all. When something was too far, too much.

But Crowley didn’t safeword. Instead, he pressed his face into the bed and started rocking his hips, fucking back on Aziraphale, who had stopped moving.

“We can stop, darling,” said Aziraphale. “It’s alright. Remember, your safeword.”

“Fuck me,” Crowley said, through gritted teeth. “Fuck me like your demon slut.”

Aziraphale was confused. Perhaps he had been wrong, and Crowley was still completely enjoying himself. But he doubted it.

He had half a mind to stop right then, but something kept him inside that mindset, that role, that reality he had created for him and Crowley.

Fortunately, Crowley had given him an excuse to take a step back without breaking the spell.

“You don’t tell me what to do,” Aziraphale said, and pulled out of Crowley, letting the demon fall forward, face down on the bed in front of him.

Aziraphale got up from the bed and stalked around the room as if he was looking for something, his posture both leisurely and purposeful. Crowley rolled up on one shoulderblade, his arms still bound behind his back, and turned his head so he could watch Aziraphale.

The silence in the room was palpable. Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s attention focused entirely on him. He fought the impulse to look at Crowley, knowing that withholding his presence like this was far more powerful.

Aziraphale took this time to gather his thoughts. Something was bothering Crowley; something had struck the wrong chords inside of him. _That’s what the safeword is for,_ Aziraphale thought with some frustration.

It dawned on him then. Crowley wasn’t going to safeword, even under the very circumstances that called for it. He was being stubborn. He thought he had something to prove.

Aziraphale sighed, and could hear Crowley react to the movement

He remembered now something he had not thought about in ages. Something from his time watching Maestro and his “boys,” as he called them, though of course they were all men, some as old as Maestro. There had been one like this – like Crowley – who saw safewording as a weakness and refused to use it.

Maestro had confided in Aziraphale that it made him nervous, and he couldn’t be with that boy the way he was with others. Aziraphale saw it between them; Maestro like a skilled musician playing his instrument with his fingers tied together. Held back.

And then, one day, that boy had reached his limit and cried out with his word, and Maestro had gathered him up and held him, and after that, it was all different. The boy trusted Maestro to receive his word without disappointment. Maestro trusted the boy to receive his discipline with honesty.

Aziraphale knew what he had to do. It was terrible, but necessary. And wasn’t that what it meant to take on this role for one’s partner? To take on the terrible-but-necessary? To accept responsibility? To own, manage, and dispense both the brutal and the tender?

If he didn’t do this, they would never be able to do this again. He would not be able to trust Crowley; and Crowley would not be able to trust him, not like this. And it wasn’t fair to deny either of them access to this wild and lovely place forever just because Aziraphale decided he wasn’t up to the task he had willingly accepted.

He would do it.

For Crowley.

For himself.

For them. Together.

He did not know how long he had been ignoring Crowley while he worked this out. When he turned back around, Crowley was still staring at him.

“Ah,” he said, as if he had just seen what he was looking for. Crowley’s pants, in a pool on the floor. He bent down to pick them up, then slipped the belt out and dropped the pants back down, holding the black leather belt in one hand.

Crowley watched all this, lust and fear nakedly visible on his face. But not that other thing Aziraphale had glimpsed. It wasn’t the pain, or the threat thereof, that was causing it.

Aziraphale folded the belt in half, dangling it loosely from his hand as he approached the bed.

“Turn over,” he said, spinning the index finger of his other hand in the air. Crowley rolled onto his back, arms still pinned behind him.

Aziraphale wanted to be able to watch his face for this.

He grasped one of Crowley’s ankles and lifted the demon’s leg into the air. Then he brought the belt down onto the soft flat plane behind the knee. Crowley moaned and squirmed against the bed.

Aziraphale peppered blows up and down Crowley’s leg, from the curve of his thigh to the length of his calf. He pushed back a bit, bending Crowley’s leg at the knee, and took the belt to the bottom of Crowley’s foot. The demon arched his back, writhing and making sounds of pained delight.

Aziraphale dropped Crowley’s leg and it fell hard onto the bed. He walked around and took hold of the other ankle and repeated the punishing routine. By the end of it, both men were as hard as their corporations could possibly get.

Now for the tougher part.

Aziraphale climbed onto the bed again and took Crowley’s leaking cock into the hand not holding the belt.

At first, Aziraphale found it hard to come up with something to say. _Be mean_. He thought back to what he had heard Maestro say to the boys who enjoyed the same sort of thing. But how could he be so awful to Crowley, especially knowing that it wasn’t being received with pleasure?

But this is what they both needed, he had decided. He was committed to pushing the issue, taking Crowley by the hand and helping him, making him, letting him, find the courage and honesty to safeword.

With this framing firmly set in his mind, the words came much more easily, flowing from something within himself that was opening, unfurling like the tendrils of a fern. It was a raw and primal love. A love that seemed all-consuming, and that wanted to consume Crowley, too; wanted to take over his body and mind with this love, hard and driving like a hailstorm, covering every inch.

“So hard,” he purred. “All from being beaten with a belt.”

Crowley nodded and thrust his hips up, moving into Aziraphale’s hand. The angel only tightened his grip until Crowley fell still and whimpered a bit.

“I love how much you like it when I hurt you,” he said. “Just feels right. A demon taking punishment from an angel.”

Crowley gasped as if he’d been struck, then clenched his jaw together.

Aziraphale brought the belt down onto Crowley’s thigh, making sure he gave it enough length to curl down and catch the sensitive inner flesh. And then he did it again, harder. He did not let go of Crowley’s cock, and so when the demon tried to pull away from the belt, he only succeeded in tugging too hard on his own member.

“You don’t stay still when I tell you…you get this hard from the belt…such a filthy, nasty, slutty little demon whore,” Aziraphale said, punctuating each cruel word with another hard slap from the belt.

Crowley’s cries turned to screams, a sound Aziraphale had not heard from his demon before. Shouts, plenty. Yells, of course. But this originated from the back of the throat, the bottom of the lungs, and erupted from Crowley, unfiltered and uncontrolled.

Aziraphale dropped the belt and ran a soothing hand over Crowley’s reddened thighs. “When it’s too much, you let me know,” he said.

Crowley only shook his head.

The fern grew in Aziraphale’s chest, protective and dominating.

He turned Crowley over, marveling at how easy, how fun, it was to manhandle the demon like this, how pliable his body was under Aziraphale’s commanding hands.

Aziraphale untied the miracled silk from Crowley’s wrists. “Hands and knees,” he said, and Crowley drowsily slinked his body into position. Aziraphale admired the vision, running his hands over Crowley’s hips, his curling back.

He wanted to be inside Crowley again, and what he wanted he would take. The fern blossomed, lacing its leaves through Aziraphale’s heart, his lungs. He shoved into Crowley, yanking the demon’s hips toward him.

Crowley collapsed on his arms, his face falling to the bed. Only Aziraphale’s grip kept his hips up so the fucking could continue. He held them tightly, bruisingly. Squeezed harder than necessary, reveling in the way Crowley squealed in pain. There, between the quivering muscles of his thigh, a well-placed fingertip was as good as any belt.

Aziraphale let go of Crowley’s hips and explored with his hands, finding more places where a hard pinch elicited delicious suffering. Maestro had showed him some of these little points, secrets in the open, dips where muscle met bone and where any pressure reduced the body to a tightened mass of pain.

When he found one on the inside of Crowley’s arm, the demon went silent and jerked away from Aziraphale’s grip. Aziraphale held him fast, holding tightly. Crowley whimpered. “I know it hurts,” Aziraphale said. “You know how to make it stop.”

Crowley just opened and closed his fists against the tangled bedsheets.

Aziraphale stopped his prodding and pinching and redoubled his thrusting, allowing Crowley’s knees to fall toward the bed so that he was once again lying on top of the demon, fucking him, his face buried in Crowley’s neck, biting and kissing.

As Aziraphale came, he ground his teeth into Crowley’s shoulder, and the pain made the demon tense and struggle, which made the angel’s orgasm that much stronger, and together they cried out, one in pain and the other in pleasure, though for both of them the sensations were as tangled up as their own bodies.

Aziraphale withdrew from Crowley, panting, and for a moment considered ending things there, but the thing inside him which felt like a fern was undeniable and he knew he would not. Could not.

Crowley lay on the bed, catching his breath, curling into himself, and Aziraphale positioned himself at the head of the bed, sitting straight, his back against the massive plain headboard.

He pulled Crowley onto his lap, lying on his back, his chest and cock fully exposed. Aziraphale ran his hands over the demon’s body, which was nestled between his own legs, and Crowley dropped his head back with a soft sigh.

“I’m not done with you,” Aziraphale said, and saw Crowley’s throat constrict.

Aziraphale grasped Crowley’s balls in one hand, his hair in the other. He lifted Crowley’s head up and met the amber eyes with his, ensuring that his gaze was soft, gentle, loving; even as his tone and his words and his hands were anything but.

“You’re just too much fun to hurt,” Aziraphale said, squeezing hard and making Crowley writhe in pain. He moved his hand down to Crowley’s inner thigh and applied intense pressure with one knuckle. Crowley thrashed. Aziraphale let go of Crowley’s hair and wrapped his arm around Crowley’s chest, holding him tightly against him.

“I love the way you suffer for me,” Aziraphale crooned into Crowley’s ear. The demon’s legs flailed and kicked.

Aziraphale pinched and pulled at Crowley’s scrotum, making the demon whine, but the timbre of the sounds changed whenever Aziraphale spoke.

“Tell me what you are,” Aziraphale ordered.

Crowley seemed too far gone to have understood.

“Tell me you’re a demon pain slut,” Aziraphale hissed.

Crowley opened his mouth as if to speak, but only a dry little sob came out.

Aziraphale leaned in closer to Crowley’s face, brushing his cheek. Where their bodies met here, Aziraphale was tender, though the rest of his touches – one hand holding Crowley tightly, the other tormenting his balls – remained brutal.

“You don’t have to say it,” he said. “I can stop, just as soon as you ask me. You know how.”

Crowley bit his lip and pressed his head back into Aziraphale’s chest.

_Stubborn boy._

Aziraphale was ready to be done, to shift into the mood where he just cradled Crowley and cooed softly at him. But this was about much more than what Aziraphale would have preferred at that moment.

“Say it,” Aziraphale growled, twisting his closed fist around Crowley’s balls, hard.

_“Augh!”_

“You’re my demon slut,” Aziraphale said, still twisting. “Mine.”

Crowley tucked his face away, hidden between his own shoulder and Aziraphale’s body, like a dove seeking refuge under her own wing.

“I’m a demon slut,” he mumbled.

“There you go,” Aziraphale said, and released Crowley from his iron grip. The demon’s whole body relaxed, and Aziraphale could see his face again. Crowley had been crying.

“Oh, darling.” Aziraphale ran a thumb down Crowley’s cheek, catching the tear. “It’s alright, you’ve had enough. Use your safeword.”

Crowley turned onto his side, nestled up against Aziraphale’s stomach, kissing and lapping at him. “S’fine, s’fine.”

“Alright then.” Aziraphale shoved Crowley off his lap and climbed on top of him, straddling his waist, looking down at the demon.

And then he smacked Crowley across the face.

He hadn’t planned to do it, hadn’t thought about it in advance. The action came from somewhere that wasn’t his rational brain. From the dark soil where that fern was growing.

Crowley’s whole body spasmed, and then he looked up at Aziraphale. His expression swam with confusion, joy, devotion, pain, and…that other thing.

Aziraphale hit him again, on the other cheek this time.

Crowley began to move under him, his hips roiling. Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s erection graze against his butt.

“You want more? I can give you more.” Aziraphale found that spot again in both of Crowley’s arms, just where the bicep clefted, and pressed in with his thumbs, leaning on Crowley with his full weight.

Crowley grunted and squirmed, making strangled noises.

Aziraphale let up on the pressure and stretched out a bit, no longer kneeling over Crowley like a threat. He tangled one hand in Crowley’s red curls, and used the other one to scratch his nails down Crowley’s side, making him shiver.

Then he slid his hand over Crowley’s thigh, to his crotch, and resumed his abuse there.

“It’s what you deserve, isn’t it? You need it. Crave it. Pain. You’re a whore for it. For me.”

He twisted into Crowley’s flesh as he dripped the humiliating words into his ears.

Crowley brought one hand to his mouth and bit down on his knuckle. “Un-unh,” he moaned, shaking his head back and forth, eyes closed, tears leaking from their corners.

“Please, just say it, my love, say the word and make it stop,” Aziraphale pleaded.

Crowley tried to kiss him then, sloppy and hungry, and Aziraphale pulled away. He hated denying Crowley like this; couldn’t wait to drench him in sweet kisses.

But he would be patient, because Crowley couldn’t. He would get them to where they needed to be, and he would carry Crowley along with him. Crowley’s helplessness was a privilege and responsibility Aziraphale did not take lightly. He would do what needed to be done.

Aziraphale took Crowley’s cock in his hand and began to stroke vigorously.

“Look how hard you are,” he teased, running his thumb over the glistening tip. “Hard for me. For the pain I give you.”

He slapped Crowley again. Crowley lifted his arms to cover his face. Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and in an instant his arms were spread flat, wrists bound to the corners of the bed.

“Nowhere to hide from the truth,” Aziraphale said. “Can’t avoid the facts of what you are: my little,” _smack, _“demon,” _smack,_ “pain,” _smack, _“slut.”

Crowley was close to coming; Aziraphale could tell. He knew this body well enough. But he didn’t look, or sound, like he usually did when he was in the throes of an orgasm. He was making desperate, breathy noises and struggling mightily against his bonds.

Aziraphale increased the tempo of his stroking, miracling a bit more lube into his hand.

“Are you going to come from this? Shame and pain? Is that what gets demon whores like you off?”

“No…no…” Crowley was sobbing now, chest heaving, twisting to try and bury his face in the bedsheets.

“That’s not the word,” Aziraphale said gently, not letting up. “You can say it. Come on, dearest. It can be over.”

Crowley did not say his safeword. Instead, he screamed, his whole body lifting up from the bed.

Aziraphale sighed and set his jaw. He took Crowley’s chin and forced the demon to look at him. Crowley’s eyes were wide and glassy. Aziraphale had not stopped stroking the demon’s cock, and he could feel the first waves of an orgasm building.

“Come for me,” the angel snarled, still holding Crowley’s face and staring down at him. “Come while I hurt you. Humiliate you.”

Aziraphale hit him again. “Come.”

At the command, Crowley unraveled, shaking and gasping.

Aziraphale did not stop stroking. He patted Crowley’s cheek patronizingly.

“That’s what I thought,” he said coolly. “Coming on command, right after I hit you.”

Crowley made a long, low moan. His whole body was trembling and he was fighting to pull his cock from Aziraphale’s merciless hand.

And then his expression changed, tightening around the lips, eyelids fluttering.

“…gavotte,” he said.

Instantly, it felt as if a taut string had snapped inside Aziraphale. The fern stopped growing and stood still and proud where it had grown. He swiftly shifted so that he was no longer on top of Crowley, snapped his fingers and disappeared the bonds, and gathered Crowley into his arms.

“Ssshh, sshh,” he said, rocking the demon back and forth softly. “It’s alright. We’re done. You’re okay.” Crowley was crying, but it wasn’t the wrenching sobs from before. It was softer. Sweeter. He sniffled and cuddled close in to Aziraphale’s embrace.

“You did so well,” Aziraphale soothed, stroking Crowley’s head as he held it to himself. His other hand rubbed slow circles on Crowley’s lower back.

Crowley’s hand wandered up Aziraphale’s chest and found the small tuft of blonde curls that sprouted there. He threaded his fingers through them and held his hand there, and Aziraphale covered the demon’s hand with his own.

“So good,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley made a small questioning noise.

“Yes, you were,” Aziraphale replied, and kissed the top of Crowley’s head. “So, so good. You made me so proud. You took so much.” More kisses. “And you let me know when you couldn’t anymore.”

Crowley’s body relaxed, still quivering with aftershocks. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” Aziraphale ran his hands over every muscle, guiding them into calmness. “My dear boy, my lovely. Oh, you were wonderful.”

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale, a dazed expression floating on his face, which was wet with tears and sweat. He seemed to glow.

Aziraphale smiled warmly and traced Crowley’s lips with his finger before chasing it with a deep kiss.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and a glass of cool water appeared in his hand. He held it to Crowley’s lips, supporting him as he sipped. The fern’s roots dug down into his heart, spreading out with love, with care, with tenderness. Right now, right here, Crowley was his entire world. And he was Crowley’s.

What a beautiful world it was.

Aziraphale set the glass down on the bedside table and slowly moved to lay Crowley down beside him, and then they were on their sides, facing each other. Aziraphale tucked one sweaty curl behind Crowley’s ear and the demon’s eyes closed, not in the tightly pressed squint from before, but sleepily, lightly.

Crowley made a murmuring sound, almost as if he meant to speak, but his tongue was too heavy.

“Hush, it’s alright.” Aziraphale pulled him close in, and Crowley nuzzled close into the angel’s chest.

“Rest now,” Aziraphale whispered, as he turned the lights off and cooled the room a few degrees with a wave of his hand.

Aziraphale covered Crowley’s forehead in soft kisses and ran his fingertips in delicate shapes across his back. Soon, the demon’s breathing slowed and he fell slightly away from where he had pressed against Aziraphale.

Aziraphale lay back and closed his eyes, though he had no intention of sleeping. He let himself drift, though. He thought about Maestro and his boys. He thought about Crowley, about courage and pain and trust and sacrifice. He thought about staircases and safe-dark places and promises kept.

He thought about ferns and their spiral openings, their reaching roots. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after - and the day, and the evening, and the night - Crowley and Aziraphale try some BDSM for the first time. Turns out, they have some things they need to discuss. Also, Aziraphale discovers the internet. 
> 
> This chapter has no smut; I set out to write more kinky sex but accidentally 2k words of Other Nonsense instead. Stay tuned, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally just meant to be a one-shot for the kink meme prompt, but people really seemed to like it and I got a few requests to expand it, and tbh I have a hard time saying no to requests! Just knowing someone is going to enjoy what I write is really exciting for me. (So if you have other kink meme prompts you want me to fill, feel free to send them my way!) 
> 
> Also: the type of case Crowley bought for Aziraphale is called decoden and looks like this: https://www.etsy.com/listing/539368226/decoden-phone-case-cute-dessert-deco?

For a long time afterwards, Aziraphale just lay in bed beside Crowley, inhaling the heady scent of sex, listening to the demon’s soft breathing. But there were plenty of hours in the night, and without the need for sleep, Aziraphale planned to make use of them.

It was time for some research. Aziraphale flipped through his mental catalog of the books he had tucked away, then furrowed his brow when he realized none of them were quite what he needed. The world had changed a lot since his days studying with Maestro. It tended to do that, and much too quickly for Aziraphale’s tastes.

Which was why the device Crowley had gifted him was still lying unused in a desk drawer downstairs. According to Crowley, it was called a “tablet,” and it used human magic to create the facsimile of books, one page at a time. (He wasn’t supposed to call it “human magic” - Crowley reminded him of this with plenty of eye rolls - but it was just so hard to keep track of what counted as “technology” on any given day. He could remember when the original tablets, bricks of clay with markings pressed into them, were cutting edge. Now they sat in big sterile buildings where no one was allowed to touch them, not even Aziraphale, not even when the tablet in question had been originally addressed to him!)

Aziraphale had to admit, though, that this new tablet, which was made of glass and light, would probably be better suited to his current purposes. He snapped his fingers, quietly to avoid waking Crowley, and it was in his hands. Crowley had tried to tempt Aziraphale into using it by purchasing a case for it that mimicked a sweet pastry, making the device feel pleasantly squishy under his fingers. Certainly it was no book, but it would work.

He turned the device on, annoyed to discover that he needed to perform a sequence of inane tasks to “set it up.” Human were always so invested in their sequences of inane tasks. He poked and swiped his way through, and when it asked him to set a four digit passcode, he quickly entered: 3376. FERN.

Finally, he was reading what the humans of the day were writing about safewords and BDSM. There was much more language for this than there had been when Maestro taught him, and though it was overwhelming, he had to admit he was impressed at the attempts humans were making to draw maps and put up signposts for each other, making it easier to find the trapdoors and stairways that led to these wonderful places.

He was looking for something specific, though, and there seemed to be infinite distractions available - stories to read, bizarre spats to take sides on, pictures to look at. How humans got anything done anymore, with these things everywhere, was beyond Aziraphale.

Aziraphale put the device down for a moment and looked over at Crowley. He reached over and brushed a hand down Crowley’s cheek and over his shoulder. The sleeping demon made a murmur of pleasure and scooted drowsily closer to Aziraphale, then draped one arm over Aziraphale’s lap. Aziraphale could have watched Crowley sleep all night, relishing in the relaxed way the demon sprawled, drunk on what Aziraphale now knew were chemicals called “endorphins,” drifting sleepily through what the humans were calling “subspace.”

He picked the tablet back up and started reading again. There was no pattern to these odd ephemeral books that lived inside the tablet. Some were long and seemed to be conversations between multiple individuals, most of which devolved into arguments before providing much information. Others were interspersed with strange images that had nothing to do with the topic but very much wanted Aziraphale to purchase unnecessary objects. And plenty of them were just complete nonsense. 

Eventually, though, he found what he needed.

Well, sort of.

It had been clear, after the events of the previous night, that he and Crowley needed more precise language to describe what they wanted. Crowley had said the words “be mean” and “humiliate me,” and those words had meant something to Aziraphale, but what Crowley had meant was different, and the gulf between those meaning was a very dangerous place.

Of  _ course _ they had meant different things. Aziraphale chided himself for not pushing Crowley for more specifics in the first place. They had both been alive long enough, spoken enough languages, seen the fallout of enough misunderstandings, to know better. Ambiguity was the enemy here, and Aziraphale would defeat it.

So Aziraphale had been looking for a long list of different words, of examples, of images, of actions and feelings, that they could look at together. He’d found plenty of words and images, a few very interesting stories, and some good advice, all of which he was collecting into something called a “bookmarks folder” (which was neither a folder nor a bookmark, as far as he could tell.) But then he found something else, something he had to admit was only possible due to the ingenious human magic inside the tablet.

It was a list like the one he was trying to compile, but it was interactive: each partner went down the list and marked what they liked. Any preferences or desires that were shared between the two were then made visible. If one person marked something that the other one did not, it stayed private.

It was nearly perfect. 

One problem, however: the list had clearly been written by, and for, humans. It made no mention of wings, blessed objects, miracles, or of whether it was acceptable to bring up a partner’s complicated history regarding a Fall from Grace as a tool of verbal humiliation. And that certainly would not do.

Aziraphale brought the tablet closer to his face and looked straight into it, trying to make sense of the list. Not its contents, but its substance. What it was made of. This wasn’t ink and paper, but it had to be something.

There it was. It was made of symbols - letters and numbers and punctuation. It was, Aziraphale realized, a language. And he’d learned plenty of those over the years. 

Crowley had gradually inched closer and closer to Aziraphale as he slept and had somehow managed to wrap himself around one of Aziraphale’s thighs, hugging his body around the angel’s leg, his head in Aziraphale’s lap. Aziraphale ran a hand lazily through Crowley’s hair as he used the other to poke around in the list, figuring out how to make one of his own.

By the time the sun rose, Aziraphale had finished with his project and set the tablet back on the nightstand. He couldn’t wait to show it to Crowley, but he knew the value of patience. They had plenty of time.

***

As it turned out, Crowley brought up the subject almost immediately after waking. It was late morning, and he’d taken his sweet time returning to consciousness. Eventually he sat up and kissed Aziraphale, who was, as usual, reading while he waited for Crowley to wake.

“Sorry ‘bout last night,” he said when their lips finally pulled apart.

Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed. “Whatever for?”

Crowley waved his hands in a vague gesture. 

“Darling,” Aziraphale said, taking a very serious tone. “I don’t ever want you apologizing for safewording. It would be more appropriate for you to tell me ‘you’re welcome.’ Because it is a gift, to me, when you’re honest, when you tell me what you need. And want.”

Crowley was clearly thrown by Aziraphale’s short lecture. “Okay,” he said, his eyes darting around the room as he picked at the sheets.

“Okay, then,” Aziraphale said, and he felt the fern reassert its presence, broad green leaves and firm, sure roots. “So let me hear you say it.”

“What?” 

Aziraphale knew that Crowley’s ‘okay’ had not meant ‘yes, I agree with what you are saying.’ It had, instead, meant ‘I am performing agreement so that you’ll close up this conversational thread.’

But that wasn’t acceptable. Not in this context. Not where the fern was concerned.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, his gaze more severe than it typically had reason to be when they were spending a lazy sun-drenched morning in bed. “I’m going to thank you, and you’re going to tell me, you’re welcome. Simple manners. Thank you, Crowley, for using your word last night.”

“Angel…” 

Aziraphale couldn’t tell whether Crowley sounded more threatened, or threatening. He was definitely uncomfortable.

“Thank you, Crowley.”

“You’re welcome, Aziraphale,” Crowley said, mumbling to the point that Aziraphale wouldn’t have been able to decipher the words had he not scripted them himself. He briefly considered pushing Crowley to speak more clearly, but this had been enough. For both of them.

“That’s good, that’s wonderful,” Aziraphale said, dissolving all of his sternness and pulling Crowley close to him, holding him tight. “I do so love to hear that.”

Crowley relaxed, too, nestled up against Aziraphale, and they stayed there until well past noon.

***

They did finally rouse for some errands and dinner, and neither of them made any mention of the previous night’s adventures, which suited Aziraphale just fine. He had been so excited to share the list with Crowley, but now that they were together again, like this, Aziraphale realized just how heavy the weight of his role could be. He loved Crowley, and he was overjoyed to have a new way to express and explore that love. But it was a big task, taking Crowley fully under himself, and it certainly wasn’t easy. Fulfilling, and delicious, and exquisite, yes. But not easy.

Being with Crowley over dinner, that was easy. Offering up whatever he had to say, whatever he was feeling, and just letting Crowley receive and respond, that was a pattern they had played for six thousand years now. Being responsible only for one, staying comfortably within the bounds of his own self - that took far less effort and attention. The fern remained, but it was at rest, a comfortable dormancy, and Aziraphale was glad of it.

But something about their return to the bedroom that night, seeing the rumpled sheets and the tablet sitting on the bedside table, reawakened it. Crowley appeared to feel the same way, given that as soon as he’d kicked off his shoes and sprawled across the bed, he smiled up at Aziraphale and said, “I really did enjoy myself last night, you ought to know.”

Aziraphale joined Crowley in bed and returned his smile. “I’m so glad, dear. And I definitely did as well.”

Crowley seemed relieved by that, which startled Aziraphale. Had it not been clear how much he’d enjoyed it? It felt so obvious, like his pleasure must have been visible, painted across his body, woven through his words. But in all the fuss, he had forgotten that it was initially Crowley who asked for it, and that was quite the vulnerable position to be in. Aziraphale felt awful for waiting so long to reassure Crowley that he had very much enjoyed it. Had he been nervous about this all day?

Aziraphale still had a lot to learn. He wished Maestro was still around. 

“I did, angel, honest. I really didn’t think - didn’t expect to…” Crowley trailed off. 

“I should come clean about that, I suppose,” Aziraphale said, trying to sound playful. “You may not have expected that your safeword would become necessary, but I did. That isn’t to say I set out that evening intending to push you past your limits. That would be quite unfair. But it occurred to me at some point that something wasn’t good for you, yet you were unwilling to use your word. And I thought that, if I didn’t show you that it was perfectly safe, that first time, we might not be able to do it again.” Aziraphale paused. “And I very much wanted the chance to do it again.”

Crowley was staring at him with an open mouth. Aziraphale took private pleasure in the fact that he was still able to surprise Crowley after all these years. 

“If that is, indeed, what you want.”

Crowley blinked at him. “What?”

“To do it again,” Aziraphale said. “If you want.”

Crowley snapped his mouth shut and swallowed. “Um. Yes. Yes, angel. I want - I want to do it again.”

“Excellent.” Aziraphale tried to hide his own sense of relief. He had been harboring an anxiety that he had made a terrible mistake in driving things so far that first time, and that Crowley had decided that it wasn’t for him. It would be completely understandable. That was, after all, the purpose of trying things: to determine whether one liked them. Of course Aziraphale would have accepted that wholeheartedly, and never brought it up again - but it was a sad thought, his fern remaining his and only his, unshared for the rest of time.

“In that case,” Aziraphale said, reaching for the tablet, “I have something to show you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale shows Crowley the list he's made on the tablet, and Crowley does his homework. Also, Aziraphale has discovered lolcats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is STILL no smut in the chapter, I don't even know what's happening to this story. Next chapter will be all the kinky sex, I PROMISE. If you have any requests for things you hope show up on the overlap of interests between the two, please leave them in comments or you can send them anonymously here: https://desperateground.tumblr.com/ask

After Aziraphale explained how the list worked - assuring Crowley that nothing would be displayed unless both parties had selected it - he asked whether Crowley wanted some privacy to peruse it. Crowley, as usual, acted like the suggestion was ridiculous, and so they stayed in bed together. Though Aziraphale was holding a book in his usual reading posture, he was far too distracted to read. Every subtle movement from Crowley seemed significant. Was he scrolling through the list quickly? Had he selected anything yet? Aziraphale forced himself not to glance over and try to see what Crowley was doing or how he was responding to the contents of the list, but it wasn’t easy. 

Fortunately, he knew Crowley well enough to build certain defenses against the demon’s more challenging tendencies. 

A few minutes went by like this, and then -

“Yeargh!” Crowley shouted and held the tablet at arm’s length, as if something had jumped out and startled him.

“What is it, dear?” Aziraphale, for his part, did not sound surprised at all, and did not look up from his book.

“What, pray tell, is THIS?” Crowley thrust the tablet toward Aziraphale. Instead of the list, it was displaying an image of an odd looking housecat with the word ‘NO.’ stamped underneath it.

“It’s a cat,” Aziraphale said. “A cat who doesn’t like things.”

Crowley was thoroughly unamused. “And  _ why _ is it here?”

Aziraphale finally put his book down and turned toward Crowley. “I added it as a sort of safeguard, if you will. It appears if the person using the list selects too many consecutive items too quickly. I wanted to make sure you didn’t just choose everything such that anything I chose was guaranteed to appear. It defeats the purpose, darling.”

Crowley sounded a bit defensive. “Now why would you think -”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley over the rim of his reading glasses. “Well you did, didn’t you?”

Crowley fell back against the pillows with a pout. “So what if I just happen to like a whole bunch of  _ consecutive items _ ?”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, trying to keep exasperation out of his voice as much as possible, “if you’re not going to take this seriously, then I can’t -”

Crowley waved the tablet around and pointed to the absurd looking animal. “How can I take  _ this _ seriously?” 

“It wouldn’t be there if you _were_ taking it seriously.”

Crowley tried to glare at Aziraphale, but he couldn’t manage much vitriol. It was a glare that told the angel he had won. Crowley gave him such glares quite often. 

“Alright,” Crowley said. He handed the tablet to Aziraphale, who waved a hand over it and reset the list, removing the cat picture. 

“You must admit, it is a delightful cat,” Aziraphale said as he gave Crowley back the tablet. “There are many more, and though they weren’t what I intended to find, I did enjoy them.” He smiled. “You were not wrong about me finding some of the books inside this device to be quite charming.”

Crowley grinned. He always liked it when Aziraphale gave him one of these told-you-so victories. “You’re ridiculous,” he said. 

Aziraphale could tell, then, that Crowley’s attitude around the list had changed. Instead of holding the tablet loosely in one bony hand and flicking through its contents with the other, Crowley was curled around it, on his side, facing Aziraphale so that the tablet was turned away from the angel. And he was working through it with an intensity of focus Aziraphale rarely saw outside of the greenhouse. 

Every so often Aziraphale heard a small sound of arousal from Crowley or felt him shift position meaningfully. Aziraphale understood. Creating the list, with all its images and proposed scenarios, had been quite the erotic experience for him as well. Aziraphale could only hope that the content eliciting such responses from Crowley held plenty of overlap with the sections that were his favorites.

“Mmmmmngh,” Crowley said at one point, exhaling like he’d been holding his breath. He looked up from the tablet at Aziraphale. “You made all this?”

Aziraphale wondered what had elicited such a reaction. He couldn’t wait for Crowley to be done so the two could see what the list identified as their shared desires. “It’s more of a research compilation, but yes, I did the compiling. And I made plenty of additions of my own.” Aziraphale reached over and tousled Crowley’s hair. The demon nuzzled up into his hand, then returned to the task at hand.

Later, Crowley went quiet and still, holding the tablet close to his face, brows knitted in concentration. Aziraphale was pretty sure he knew which section Crowley had made it to. It had also taken a significant amount of Aziraphale’s focus. It was the section where Aziraphale had listed every iteration of ‘verbal abuse’ he could possibly think of, sub-categorized by topic, with examples, including a good number of specifics regarding demonic identity.

Despite the comprehensive nature of certain sections, Aziraphale worried that list had blind spots; entire clusters of actions that hadn’t occurred to him to include, but which might appeal to Crowley. He had done his best to be exhaustive and imaginative - and the tablet’s many, many books on the topic had certainly helped. Besides, he reassured himself, anything he’d neglected to include would probably not appear in the overlap of their selections. 

Still, Aziraphale was confident that there were paths he didn’t know of that he would nevertheless delight in tripping down. One day, he hoped, Crowley might be willing to make his own additions to the list for Aziraphale to select from. But that would be asking a lot from Crowley, whose shyness in this area meant it fell almost entirely to Aziraphale to take the lead.

And when it came to taking the lead, Aziraphale didn’t mind. Not at all.

***

It was late in the evening when Crowley finished, announcing his completion by tossing the tablet to one side and flopping over into Aziraphale’s lap.

“Are you done?”

“Mmhmm.” Crowley sounded proud. He made no mention of the fact that the reason he knew he was finished was that the list had rewarded him with another image of cats, this time two of them cuddling, tails wrapped in the shape of a heart.

Aziraphale couldn't mind much though, because he was nearly beside himself with desire to see what interests the list had determined they shared, but Crowley didn’t seem as interested.

“Would you like to look at the results together?”

“Erm…” Crowley made the non-committal noise that Aziraphale knew meant ‘I don’t want to say no, but I certainly don’t want to say yes, either.’

As much as Aziraphale would have loved to compare notes together, Crowley snug against his chest, Aziraphale looking over the demon’s shoulder as they both read, he could see how that might be too much for Crowley. 

“How about this, dear.” Aziraphale paused to lean down and pepper Crowley’s neck with kisses before continuing. “I’ll look at it tonight while you sleep, and then you can see it tomorrow over your coffee.”

“Yeah,” Crowley said, and he sounded satisfied. Aziraphale glanced toward the corner of the bed where the tablet sat. He hadn’t been this eager to read something since darling Oscar had asked him to look over a draft of his newest play. But as long as he had Crowley in his arms, it was the demon who commanded his full attention. 

“Thank you for doing that for me,” Aziraphale said, running a hand through Crowley’s auburn curls. “I’m looking forward to understanding more about what you want. And, of course, giving it to you.”

Crowley rolled onto his back and looked up at Aziraphale. The angel could see an unasked question behind those golden eyes, and he waited while Crowley worked up to it.

“Angel…” Crowley began, then broke eye contact. “All those things...that’s not everything, is it?”

Anxiety shot through Aziraphale. Had he left off an entire category of desires, leaving Crowley adrift in some unspoken want?

“How do you mean, love?” 

“Well, you know,” Crowley rubbed his temples, casting his gaze around the room like his intended words were written on some surface. “We don’t have to do it like that every time, do we? We can still…”

“Oh!” Aziraphale felt utterly foolish. In all his attempts to encompass everything he imagined his Crowley might want, every possible step on that staircase, he had completely neglected to include anything that the humans were calling ‘vanilla.’

“Of course, of course, dearest.” Aziraphale pulled Crowley tightly to him, running his hands over the demon’s skin in motions that were equal parts soothing and sensual. “I apologize, it hadn’t occurred to me to add things that we already know we both enjoy. But yes, Crowley, I’m still yours in every way I ever was. Nothing has changed, darling.”

Here, Aziraphale paused to kiss Crowley’s forehead. He could feel the last bits of lingering tension release from Crowley’s body. “I’m so sorry to have worried you about that. Thank you for giving me the chance to clarify.”

Crowley’s cheeks pinked - he never did take apologies, nor praise, without squirming. But he was smiling, and the easy sprawl had returned to his posture. He threw one lanky arm out to grab the tablet from the edge of the bed, handing it to Aziraphale. “Alright, then,” he said with a theatrical yawn. “I’ve done my homework for the night. Feel like I’ve earned a solid sleep.”

“Indeed you have, love,” Aziraphale said, lifting the tablet with one hand while resting the other on Crowley’s bare shoulder, feeling Crowley shift slightly as he snuggled into the bed, settling in for his well earned sleep. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley both get to see the list of their overlapping kinks. Aziraphale sets a scene that includes a good healthy handful of 'em. YES, THIS CHAPTER ACTUALLY INCLUDES SEX, FINALLY!
> 
> Big thanks to the folks in the handful of GO discord servers who sent me some kink requests for this chapter! They include: collars, overstimulation, genital switching, objectification/human furniture, praise, and good ol' fashioned kissing. I'm definitely still taking requests for this story too, so hmu in the comments or anonymously at desperateground.tumblr.com/ask!

Aziraphale read over the overlap list once, twice, then a third time. Love and gratitude filled him, knowing that Crowley had bared himself like this. With every new revelation of a desire they shared, the fern in his chest grew greener, brighter, lusher. 

If only he could wrap up every single action, every toy, every feeling, on that list and give them to Crowley all at once. Gluttony had always been his preferred vice, after all. But that wouldn’t be wise, or really even possible, given that many of them were mutually exclusive, and some of them merited more of a conversation before attempting. 

He did, however, select a handful that stood out and spent the rest of the night reading up on those. None of them struck him as particularly risky, so he didn’t require much technical research, and settled instead on a massive book (which called itself an archive) of erotic fiction with seemingly infinite chapters and authors and characters. Fortunately, it had an impressive indexing system that allowed him to find excellent examples of what he was looking for.

When morning came, Aziraphale left Crowley sleeping and went downstairs to fix the demon’s coffee. He never had gotten Crowley on board with the joy of a real breakfast, but at least Crowley took sugar in his coffee these days. For himself, Aziraphale warmed up a scone with fresh butter and some blueberry sage jam Anathema had sent.

He carried the coffee upstairs and set it on Crowley’s night table, along with the tablet, open to the cover image Aziraphale had set for the overlap list. Since Crowley wasn’t very enthused by the cat images Aziraphale had selected, he had added a photo of a very charming looking snake peeking over the rim of a ceramic bowl. 

Crowley stayed in bed quite a long time that morning, and when he finally sauntered downstairs, it was with a mischievous grin. 

“It’s good to finally see you,” Aziraphale drawled, pretending to be annoyed by Crowley’s late arrival. “Did you enjoy your morning reading?”

Crowley joined Aziraphale on the sofa where he was reading and immediately set about placing himself between Aziraphale and the book. “Absolutely fascinating,” he said, wiggling his way into Aziraphale’s lap. 

“I was thinking, darling,” Aziraphale set the book down with an indulgent flourish, “about our plans for the day.”

“Uh huh.” Crowley was nibbling Aziraphale’s neck, clearly not listening. 

“Crowley, now listen to me,” Aziraphale said, affecting sternness. He took Crowley’s upper arms and held the demon tightly, holding him just far enough away that they could look into each other’s eyes, and so that Crowley was no longer close enough to reach Aziraphale with hungry kisses.

Aziraphale saw a delicious little change flicker through Crowley’s body. He loved the way Crowley responded to Aziraphale’s strength and firmness, the clarity with which they were both stepping into these roles. Aziraphale wondered what Crowley’s fern looked like; whether the metaphor would even make sense to the demon, or whether he would be offended on behalf of his innocent plants.

Either way, whatever it was that had taken root in Aziraphale’s heart was awake and thrilling as Crowley sat in his lap, expectant and rapt. 

“I was thinking,” Aziraphale continued, “that I have quite a bit of work to do on my accounting paperwork for the bookshop.”

Crowley tilted his head slightly in confusion. Aziraphale noted how birdlike he looked, delicate-boned and attentive.

“And you know, I’m sure, how positively dry I find it all. I usually do it at my old desk -” here he gestured with a nod toward his antique, heavy oak rolltop “- but today I would prefer a lovelier setting for such miserable work.”

Crowley arched an eye, then.  _ Objectification _ had been on the overlap list, as well as a handful of clarifying sub-kinks. 

“Would you be willing to help make my workday more...pleasant?”

“Yes,” Crowley said, and it was less a word than a gasp, a breath, heaving from his chest.

***

Soon they were upstairs, in Aziraphale’s large bed. He had propped a number of thick pillows against the headboard and was sitting with a straight back against it. Over his lap, lying on his stomach, was a naked Crowley.

“I was glad to see, dear, that both of us reported interest in using our supernatural abilities to adjust our corporations.” Aziraphale slid one hand between Crowley’s legs, cupping the demon’s standard Effort with one hand. “I think that for today, it would be fun for you to shift this - would you, for me?”

Crowley pressed into Aziraphale’s hand and, with a soft moan, began to change. Aziraphale felt the balls recede and, in their place, soft lips and a warm, inviting vulva. 

“That’s lovely, Crowley,” he praised, stroking the outer lips and making Crowley melt under his touch. 

Then he removed his hand, noting the silent tension that rippled through Crowley when he did so,, and reached for the stacks of papers he’d left on the nightstand. Aziraphale spread a number of papers and notebooks over the flat expanse of Crowley’s back, setting each one down with slow intentionality.

Crowley held himself perfectly still, though Aziraphale could tell it was not without strain. He spent the next few minutes ignoring Crowley entirely, and could feel the anticipation rising, the wanton need. It was not easy to deny Crowley like this, but he was very much enjoying the power, the absolute control over the tempo of the scene. He scratched a few notes, turned a few ledger pages, tapped the pen absentmindedly against Crowley’s taut bottom.

Finally, when he got to a particularly annoying task, Aziraphale decided it was time to treat himself to a little distraction. Holding the offending receipt sheet in one hand, searching for the addition error he was sure it contained, he dipped the other hand between Crowley’s legs. He found the demon nearly soaking, which didn’t surprise him, and began to toy with the wet folds.

Crowley squeaked in pleasure. Aziraphale pressed in deeper and Crowley spread his legs a bit, still taking care not to disturb any of Aziraphale’s materials. He stayed mostly quiet until Aziraphale grazed Crowley’s clit with the pad of one finger, and Crowley let out a cry that was impossible to ignore.

Aziraphale stopped stroking Crowley and delivered a hard smack to his thigh. “Hush. I don’t need distractions while I work.”

The harshness in Aziraphale’s tone had a strong effect, and Crowley went silent and stiff. Aziraphale could feel the demon’s shallow, rapid breaths as he struggled to contain himself. 

“That’s better.” Aziraphale resumed his reading and stroking. Crowley managed to stay quiet for a good while, until Aziraphale slid two fingers deep inside him and he moaned loudly.

Aziraphale pulled his hand out. It came away slick and shiny. He could just miracle it clean, but he liked the subtly objectifying touch of wiping it on Crowley’s bare skin.

He set down the paperwork and took Crowley’s hair in his hand, lifting and tugging so that he could see the demon’s face. “Now, Crowley,” he said, sounding disappointed and chiding. “I’ve been working at that great old rolltop for hundreds of years, and do you know how many times it has interrupted my work with needy little noises?”

Crowley looked up at him with wide eyes. His lips parted as if he meant to speak, but nothing came out.

“None. So perhaps I should return there to finish my work, and leave you be until then?”

Crowley looked so desolate at that threat that it startled Aziraphale. He hadn’t expected to unravel the demon so thoroughly with his first scolding.

“No?”

Crowley shook his head in tiny movements, begging wordlessly for Aziraphale to stay.

“Alright, then. If you think you can behave.”

Crowley’s entire body was signaling that _yes, yes, he had every intention of behaving, if only Aziraphale would keep him here, in his lap, under his touch_. Aziraphale smiled and loosened his grip on Crowley’s hair, petting where he’d just been pulling. 

With no more discussion, he returned to his work. It was even more enjoyable than he’d expected, working with Crowley on his lap, free to run his hands over the demon’s back, to squeeze his bottom, to toy with the demon’s available body however he pleased.

It went on like this for a good while, Aziraphale making his way through his accounting, Crowley serving as an adorable work surface. Every so often he made a small noise, and Aziraphale responded to with a solid spank or two, which settled him back down.

Crowley was deep in subspace, Aziraphale could tell, and he loved the way every atom in the demon’s body was tuned in to him. For Aziraphale, the world still included paperwork, and inkpens, and petty cash amounts, and a night table with a mug of tea on it, and sun streaming in through the bedroom windows. For Crowley, it seemed that the world had shrunk to one blazing point of light: Aziraphale. The slightest touch sent shock waves through Crowley’s body. Any time Aziraphale lifted his hand away, Crowley’s focus followed it with desperate anticipation. Aziraphale commanded the absolute entirety of Crowley’s attention while Crowley existed as a slight diversion from the work Aziraphale was engrossed in. This heady imbalance fed the fern like a heavy summer rain.

And then, Aziraphale decided to up the ante. He set down his pen and slid his hand back between Crowley’s thighs, moving more quickly than he had before. No longer languidly playing, now he was purposefully thrusting, aiming for that magical spot that dissolved all of Crowley’s self control. 

It was not difficult to find. Crowley began to pant, and Aziraphale could tell it was taking every ounce of the demon’s strength to keep his back flat enough to hold the books and papers Aziraphale had laid across it. Every muscle in Crowley’s body was quivering now, his fists balled tightly as he tried not to move. His feet flexed, pressing his toes into the bedspread. Aziraphale did not stop. 

Aziraphale was relentless, pressing every button he knew existed deep within Crowley, and soon he was writhing enough that a stack of papers resting on his shoulder blades began to slide off. and Crowley, noticing the movement, froze.

“Careful,” Aziraphale warned. 

Crowley’s breath hitched. The papers remained on Crowley’s back, but were now in a much more precarious position. Crowley, clearly unable to maintain his stability and silence at the same time, whimpered loudly. 

At the sound, Aziraphale spanked Crowley with his free hand. That was too much for Crowley. He cried out and bucked his hips, which sent the papers, as well as Aziraphale’s notebook and pen, flying onto the bedspread. 

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale pressed a hand on Crowley’s back, holding him down, and leaned over, bringing his face near to the demon’s flushed skin. 

“Sor...I’m sorry,” Crowley mumbled. Unable to meet Aziraphale’s eyes, he had burrowed his face into the bed.

Aziraphale had thought perhaps he might punish Crowley, but the ruin in his demon’s voice stopped him. Playing around with shame, failure, or even Aziraphale’s cool disappointment didn’t feel right for this moment.

“It’s alright,” he soothed, running a hand over Crowley’s now-bare body. “I could see you were trying your best. You were so good for me.”

Aziraphale noted the relief that washed over Crowley as he spoke.

“It is so much nicer, working like this instead of at my stuffy old desk,” Aziraphale cooed, knowing his beloved rolltop would forgive the fib. “But I do have a bit more work to finish, and I can’t do that if my papers keep falling everywhere. Perhaps I could help you stay good for me?”

Crowley nodded, his face still pressed into the bed. 

Aziraphale gently took hold of Crowley’s chin and lifted the demon’s head up so he could speak. “Would you like that? Some help to be good?”

“Yes please,” Crowley whispered.

“Of course.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers and a stack of black straps with silver buckles appeared on the bed. They were leather, worked to buttery softness, and would have cost a fortune had Aziraphale not just miracled them out of thin air. He wrapped one around Crowley’s ankles, buckling it just tightly enough. He placed the next strap around Crowley’s knees, then one on his thighs. Crowley was limp throughout the process, breathing deeply, falling further into submission as Aziraphale trussed him up.

Another strap around his chest, holding his arms at his sides, and then Aziraphale picked up the last one, which was smaller than the rest, and sturdier. It was not intended to bind Crowley - not in body, at least. He set the collar around Crowley’s neck, then leaned down and asked, his voice quiet, “is this alright?”

Though  _ collars  _ had been on their overlap list, Aziraphale hadn’t intended to include one in the day’s activities. But when he conjured the straps, it just made sense to include a matching one.

“Yes,” Crowley breathed, “yes, please,  _ yes _ .”

Aziraphale buckled the collar on.

It was harder to reach Crowley’s clit now, with his thighs pressed together, but Aziraphale had no problem teasing and enjoying the demon anyway. He could still slide a few fingers deep inside, and there was always the sensitive pink bud of Crowley’s ass, which he toyed with as often as he pleased. Aziraphale enjoyed running a finger between the leather straps and Crowley’s skin, caressing the sensitive skin underneath and reminding them both of the roles they had chosen that afternoon.

Every time Crowley made a sound, Aziraphale gave him a smack, and soon they fell into an easy rhythm: Aziraphale ignoring him for a time, then some gentle fondling, and finally some more direct ministrations whenever Aziraphale decided to treat himself to a break from the tedium of accounting before returning to his work.

Each stage was delicious in its own way. Clearly Crowley hated to be without any of Aziraphale’s focus, and whenever Aziraphale left him entirely alone - or as alone as he could be, lying nude across the angel’s lap - he could almost hear the bitten-back whines as Crowley resisted his own urges to demand attention. 

And then there was the flush of humiliation that bloomed through Crowley, noticeable in his posture and embarrassed murmurs, when Aziraphale brushed his hands over Crowley’s ass and legs or fidgeted idly with his hair. Reduced to no more than a desk ornament to be played with at Aziraphale’s leisure, Crowley seemed to be balanced on the knife’s edge between ecstasy and desperation. Naughty boy that he was, Crowley was always angling for more contact, arching ever so subtly into each touch, as much as the straps would allow.

But Aziraphale’s favorite moments were those when he trained all his efforts on Crowley, challenging the demon to stay as hushed and motionless as a desk even as he was overwhelmed with sensation. He rarely succeeded, though Aziraphale certainly appreciated how hard he tried.

Eventually, the accounting work was completed, and for the first time in Aziraphale’s long tenure as the proprietor of the bookshop, he was somewhat disappointed to be done. Never before had he had such a good time going through his sales records and tallying up local taxes.

Of course, nothing was stopping him from continuing as long as he liked, scribbling nonsense into his notebooks and shuffling papers while Crowley suffered patiently through it for him. That wasn’t what Aziraphale wanted, however.

He swept all the papers into a neat stack and moved everything to the nightstand. Stretched out across his lap, bare but for the black straps pinning his limbs, Crowley’s body was like a harp string pulled impossibly taut. Aziraphale knew that it was the striking, the trembling, of such a cord that gave rise to song. And here was his demon, ready to sing for him.

“I’m done with my work,” he said, as casually as if he were speaking to Crowley from the next room over. “And though I do believe it took longer than it might have without the distractions, I can’t say I’ve ever enjoyed accounting more.”

He turned Crowley over so that the demon was lying on his back and smiled down at him, tracing a sweat-damp jaw with one finger. “Now, then. It definitely seemed to me, through all that, that you wanted more of my attention than you were getting. Is that true, dear boy?”

Aziraphale ran a feather-light touch down Crowley’s bare stomach, making the demon arch his back and catch his breath, his eyes falling shut.

Getting no reply, Aziraphale lifted his hand from Crowley and repeated his question. “Is that true?”

Crowley’s eyes flew open and he gazed up at Aziraphale, as needy as he’d ever looked. 

“Yes, angel.”

“Yes, I gathered that, from all your wiggling and whining. I suppose now that I’m done, I ought to make up for all that time I spent denying you, shall I?”

“Please…”

“Alright, then. Do remember how badly you wanted this, will you?”

Aziraphale meant that last bit to sound confusing, and vaguely threatening. From what he could see in Crowley’s expression, it worked. He lifted the still-bound demon off his lap and onto the bed, where he set about removing all the straps except the collar. Crowley was pliant throughout, making no moves beyond the ones Aziraphale nudged him toward. 

Then Aziraphale lifted Crowley’s arms up toward the headboard and used two of the straps to bind his wrists to the bedposts, a bit of angelic magic applied to make it as efficient and comfortable as possible. He positioned himself over Crowley, looking hungrily down at him. 

“There you are, darling. You have my  _ full _ and  _ undivided _ attention.” Implicit in this statement was the question of whether Crowley could handle it. Crowley bit his lip and looked up through his eyelashes at Aziraphale, begging wordlessly.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and removed his clothing, wanting to feel skin on skin. Crowley moaned lasciviously at the sight of the naked angel. Aziraphale gave himself over to desire, freed from the pretense of his accounting work. His own self-restraint was no longer part of the game, and it was not a moment to soon. He fell on Crowley with hands and lips and all the rest of him, pawing and nipping and grabbing and licking. Crowley, already long on edge, moaned and thrashed with every touch.

“Yes, that’s it,” Aziraphale murmured, running his hands over Crowley’s chest and drawing his tongue from Crowley’s shoulder up to his ear. “Is this what you wanted?”

Crowley, by way of a response, made use of his unrestrained legs to lift his hips high enough to rub himself on Aziraphale’s hard cock. 

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, leaning back and pressing his thumb against Crowley’s clit. “That’s where you want my attention, is it?”

Crowley nodded frantically.

Aziraphale thrust two fingers inside Crowley, still rubbing his clit, and watched as the demon’s eyes rolled back in bliss. He tickled and stroked until Crowley was approaching climax, and didn’t stop as it crested. Crowley’s cries of pleasure filled the room before they turned into quieter moans, then whimpers. Through it all, Aziraphale maintained the same pace, his fingers deep inside Crowley, his thumb circling the demon’s clit.

Crowley kicked his legs and rolled his hips a bit, trying to get out from under Aziraphale’s relentless fingers.

“Mmm,” Aziraphale said, taking in the sight. “I do love being able to focus on you.”

Crowley was a mess now, nearing another orgasm already. His cries grew higher in pitch, sharp quick sounds that matched the pace Aziraphale had set with his hand. When he came, it was with clenched fists and quaking legs.

“All my attention, dear,” Aziraphale whispered directly into Crowley’s ear, “all yours, all for you. Here you go, sweet thing.” 

Crowley shivered and keened as Aziraphale continued kneading his now over-sensitive clit. His third orgasm was a great rattling one, and Aziraphale could feel his heart pounding behind his breastbone. Finally, the angel let up, cupping Crowley’s mound in his hand before running his palm over the demon’s thighs.

Crowley looked ready to dissolve directly into the bed. But Aziraphale was not done paying him attention. Not even close.

“Is this what you were missing, when I was ignoring you for my work? I am so terribly sorry for that, my dear. You must let me make it up to you.”

In response, Crowley rolled his head back and forth between his bound arms, as if he were seeking Aziraphale’s lips for a kiss. The angel indulged him, kissing Crowley deeply, before slowly making his way down the demon’s neck, to his chest, where he paused to suck and nibble at both nipples. Then he continued, trailing kisses down Crowley’s stomach and then the dips and peaks of his hipbones.

“Ohh,” Crowley gasped, when Aziraphale’s tongue skimmed over his clit. Instinct pulled his legs together, as if closing them might protect his already well-attended-to sex from Aziraphale’s continued affection. Aziraphale spread them easily, one hand on each thigh, his face buried between Crowley’s legs.

He lapped at Crowley, following a secret and intricate pattern, eliciting all manner of delightful noises. 

“Oh, oh, _angel_,” Crowley panted, twisting helplessly under Aziraphale. Realizing that Crowley could still form words, Aziraphale decided that simply would not do.

He dipped his tongue lower, circling Crowley’s ass, and Crowley wailed. When Aziraphale moved back up and took one of Crowley’s pink, wet lips between his teeth, biting softly, Crowley made low, animal grunts.

Thus far, Crowley had moaned, he had sighed, he had whimpered, he had whined, and he had squealed. He had not yet screamed.

Aziraphale meant to change that.

He lifted one hand from Crowley’s thighs, confident in his ability to keep the demon well controlled, and pushed two fingers into him. His tongue found Crowley’s clit, and together, hand and mouth, he pulled Crowley right to the edge again, then pushed him all the way over.

Crowley screamed. It was a sound of pleasure, of overwhelm, of total surrender. Aziraphale had never heard anything so perfect. Crowley may have had command all of Aziraphale’s attention, but Aziraphale had command of all of Crowley. 

Some sharp twig poked at Aziraphale from the fern inside him, wondering how much farther Crowley could go, knowing he could wring plenty more screaming, shuddering orgasms out of Crowley’s body. He tucked it back and away, for another time. 

Instead, he moved back up to kiss Crowley again, loving the way he still succumbed to Aziraphale’s touch as he ran claiming hands over the demon’s chest, his arms, his ribs.

“Is that what you wanted?”

“Mmmmhmmm.” Crowley’s eyes were closed, a sleepy smile on his face.

“All my attention, all for you.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the bindings on Crowley’s wrists disappeared, though the collar remained. “You’re incredible, my love.”

Now freed, Crowley reached for Aziraphale with all four of his limbs, nearly climbing on top of the angel. Aziraphale settled him in the crook of his arm, resting Crowley’s head on his shoulder. He had noticed the way Crowley’s fingers threaded through the hair on his chest during their last session of aftercare, and had gone ahead and added a bit more. Sure enough, Crowley’s hand soon found the thick tuft of curls and grabbed them loosely, the same way he sometimes held the bedsheets in one relaxed hand as he slept. 

“So good, my love, so good for me.”

Crowley grinned and nuzzled even closer.

“I do so adore you, Crowley.” Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s forehead, holding him tightly with the arm wrapped around his back. 

Crowley was nearly asleep, and Aziraphale let him drift off before miracling the collar off. The lights had the good sense to dim, and Crowley’s soft, steady breathing made for a perfect lullaby. Aziraphale shut his eyes and spent the night gardening in his own strange way, tending and pruning the new shoots sprouting from the infinitely fertile soil he and Crowley were turning together.


End file.
